


Overload

by sharim28



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Any excuse will do, F/M, Fandom Revival, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharim28/pseuds/sharim28
Summary: He’s trying really hard not to think about the fact that he’s in bed with Carter, and she’s not wearing any pants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NellieOleson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellieOleson/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [AgentKalGibbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentKalGibbs/pseuds/AgentKalGibbs) in the [FandomRevival](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/FandomRevival) collection. 



> This is my first ever attempt at smut (please, please don't tell my mother I wrote this), and it's terrifying and exciting posting it at the same time! 
> 
> Thanks to ProfessorTenant for casting an eye over it and giving it the 'post it' stamp of approval :) Please note, it is not beta'd so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Slow, sensual, passionate sex. The kind that doesn't get faster towards the end, but stays so slow and incredibly intense and the reader can almost feel each pulse and throb and clench through the screen.

Jack is bored. The downside of having Daniel and Carter on his team means they get more than their fair share of ‘follow up’ missions on planets with trade potential. 

He is all for advanced technology (particularly weapons and cool spaceships and video games), but the actual act of engaging with those populations, and sitting through the mind numbing negotiations and tours… well. That part is not so fun. 

Except on the missions when it’s his turn to babysit Carter. Then it’s kind of okay, because he gets to follow Carter around all day. And because he is legitimately watching her six, it makes it sort of okay to be _watching_ her six.

He’s pretty sure Carter is onto him by now; she’s pretty smart like that. And sometimes he’s pretty sure she leans over things a bit further than she needs to; she’s pretty sneaky like that. Or so he likes to tell himself anyway. 

Still, Carter’s six aside, there’s only so long he can follow her around like a useless puppy before he starts to get bored, and when he gets bored he really can’t help himself. It’s as though his hands are no longer attached to his brain, and they just randomly find things to touch and pick up and fiddle with. When Carter starts frowning at him he realises the goal of her mission is slowly shifting away from learning about new technology, and more towards watching that his hands don’t get them in trouble. 

“Sir,” she says, all respect and professionalism with a hint of frustration and annoyance for depth. “Sir, why don't you go see how Daniel and Teal’c are going? I’ll be fine here on my own.

Jack does not believe in leaving team members on their own off-world. 

“Sir, I won’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.” _Unlike you_ , the unsaid words hang between them.  

Jack forces his wayward hands into his pockets. 

“Sir,” she is starting to get her Angry Carter voice when his fingers pick up yet another sensitive device the Glengaren scientists are getting upset about. “Really, I’ll be fine. What could possibly go wrong?” 

\---

He should have known better. He knows Carter is just as bad as Daniel when it comes to touching things she shouldn’t be touching. Or fiddling with technology she doesn’t understand (not that she likes admitting she doesn’t understand it). 

So he can’t say it’s really a surprise when a few hours after he leaves Carter with the scientists, a gaggle of concerned geeks turn up and start herding the rest of SG-1 back towards the science precinct.

“What’s going on?”

“Major Carter is fine,” Hebran, one of the scientists tells him. “She’s fine.”

“But?”

“Well, we’re not sure.” 

“But she’s fine?”

The scientists are unusually vague and evasive for scientists, and Jack is starting to feel a bit concerned about his second.

Carter is sitting on a stool in a dark, empty room with her eyes closed and hands tucked between her knees.

“Carter?”

“Please, sir,” she whispers, her face scrunching up in apparent pain. “Not so loud please.”

“Carter?”

“Just… I just need a moment. Can you shut the door?”

He leaves the door slightly ajar, and waits for Carter tell him what’s going on. “I touched something.”

“Of course you did. Let’s get you back to base.”

“No, sir.”

“No, sir?”

“I’m not sure what it did, but everything is too much at the moment.”

“What do you mean?" 

“Sensation. Everything. Noise, light, touch, movement, I just… it’s overwhelming. I don’t think I can move from this room right now.” 

“What did you touch?”

She flinches, and he thinks maybe he spoke too loudly. “Something the Glengaren’s found on an archaeological dig. They’re not sure what it is, and I suggested we get Daniel to take a look at the artefact. It looked like it was Goa’uld in origin, sir.” 

“And then you touched it?”

“I just picked it up,” she disagrees.

“So you touched it.” 

A pause. “Yes, sir.”

He sighs. “What happened?”

“A jolt. Like a shock. My nerves felt like they were on fire. And I just haven’t… I haven’t been able to… to get things to calm down, sir.”

“I’ll radio Fraiser to come check you out, and get Daniel to have a look at the device.” 

\--- 

Several hours later, and things aren’t a lot clearer.

According to Fraiser, who’s been and gone and will be back in the morning, it looks like Carter is fine. Just in a state of sensory overload she can’t explain, and can’t treat. As a result it looks like their day trip to Glengara is turning into an overnight stay because she’s concerned about the effects of gate travel on Carter’s already over excited nervous system. 

Daniel isn’t really offering anything useful other than, “I think you need naquadah in your system to activate it, just like a healing device or hand device. It seems to have been made by a minor Goa’uld who was trying to improve his host’s senses.”

“Like super powers?”

“Sort of. Maybe.”

“Is it permanent?”

“I don’t know.”

Negotiations are being continued by Daniel, Teal’c and SG-9, while Jack is left to figure out what to do with a Carter that has super senses gone wrong and is stuck in a little dark room.

“Sir?”

“Mmm?”

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

Ah. That little dark room with a single little stool has no bathroom.

“I’ll see what I can do, Carter.”

\---

“Do you trust me, Carter?" 

“Of course, sir.” 

“Okay, let’s do this.”

She closes her eyes and lets the Colonel position the soft eye mask over her face. The darkness and relative quiet is bliss, but where those senses are numbed it feels like her sense of touch has exploded.

She jerks as his large, warm hand closes gently over her wrist, trailing down her skin until his fingers are carefully wrapped around her hand. She is aware of the calluses on his thumb catching against the fine hairs on the back of her hand while the skin of her palm tingles against his fingers. 

Her breath hitches in her throat, and she takes a second to get used to the new sensation.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice a muted rumble through the ear plugs.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Let’s do this.”

His fingers tighten briefly against her skin, and she contemplates sliding her fingers between his to see what it feels like, but even just the touch of his skin on her palm at the moment is almost too much, so she keeps her eyes closed and lets him lead her out into the light.


	2. Chapter 2

The small room the Glengaren’s have found for Carter is not completely devoid of light and sound, but it’s close. Built into the side of a hill, the room in this building is half under ground and half exposed, tiny windows along the top of the walls letting in the last of the evening light.

He turns off all the lights, and he leads Carter to the bathroom before letting go of her wrist and shutting the door to give her some privacy.

“Okay, we’re here and no disasters,” Jack says quietly into his radio.

“Oh Good,” Daniel responds. “They’re organising a bit of a party up here, to celebrate the alliance. Grogan’s pretty excited about the food.”

“Send some down for us, and don’t get too carried away with the local brew.”

“Will do, Jack. Take care of Sam. Over.”

Jack sighs and looks around the room, noting the one large bed and two uncomfortable looking chairs in the corner. He settles himself down on the bed, wishing for TV. 

It takes a long time before Carter emerges from the bathroom, looking pale and tired in the dim lighting. She casts a cautious look around the room before heading for one of the chairs and sitting herself down gingerly, eyes closed. 

“How’re you doing?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm and quiet.

“Okay. This room is much better, thank you sir.”

“Hebran organised it. Daniel and Teal’c are bringing some food down soon, and then I figure we can get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

They sit in silence for what feels like hours, but when Jack checks his watch it’s been five minutes. Half an hour later only three more minutes have passed. The third time he checks his watch, Carter shifts on her seat. 

“Sir.”

“Carter?”

“Do you think maybe Daniel or Teal’c need your help?”

He stares at her. As if he’s going to leave her alone again. Just look what happened last time he left her!

“Trying to get rid of me, Carter?” 

“You’re just… very restless.”

Yes, he knows that, but he didn’t think that his inability to sit still was a revelation for her.

“It’s… it’s difficult, sir.”

Eyes shut tight, perched on the chair unmoving, Carter is very much a picture of abject misery.

“I’ll go find the food,” he offers as a compromise.

“Thank you, sir.”

\---

Food was a bad idea. Normally, food is a great idea, especially food which smells as great as this food does.

Unfortunately for Carter, the heady aromas are not nearly as pleasant to someone with super sensitive noses, and the way her face blanches has Jack wondering if she’s going to pass out or throw up.

“Just take it outside, please,” she gasps, hands over her face and trying not to gag.

“I’ll eat outside.”

“Sir.”

“Really?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

These super senses really suck, Jack thinks sorrowfully as he abandons their untouched tray of food outside the door and heads back into their room.

It’s almost dark now, their room thrown into shadows by the small square of light from the street lamps outside filtering in. Carter is still sitting on her chair, and Jack figures this is as good as tonight’s going to get.

“Let’s call it a night, Carter.”

\---

He can hear Carter rustling around in the dark.

“Carter?”

“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to wake you up." 

“What are you doing?”

There’s a long pause, silence pervading as she stops what she was doing. “Getting comfortable, sir.”

“I don’t think the floor is very comfortable, no matter what you do.”

Surprisingly, there is a definite hint of amusement on her voice. “I’m not trying to sleep on the floor.”

“Then what are you doing?”

He feels the bed dip beneath her weight as she gets back in, and the wiggling as she settles back into place. And she hasn’t the question, which has his curiosity piqued.

“Carter?”

“I couldn’t sleep, sir.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

A frustrated, huffy little sigh. “The BDU’s were too hard and scratchy to sleep in.”

“Then…. Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He’s trying really hard not to think about the fact that he’s in bed with Carter, and she’s not wearing any pants.

“Is this okay, sir?”

It’s okay on more levels than it should be, which makes it not okay, and that makes his brain hurt. “Sure. It’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with two colleagues, friends if you will, sharing a bed and sleeping comfortably.”

“No, sir, there’s not,” she agrees, and again that thread of amusement is very clearly evident on her voice. She’s also got a sleepy undertone, and he thinks he could listen to sleepy Carter in bed forever.

“Go to sleep now.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Except, she doesn’t go to sleep. Instead, she’s moving her legs around. He can hear the soft sliding of skin across skin and soft sheets as she twists and wriggles, and he wonders if the effects of the device are transferable between people, because right now he’s sure he has super senses too, and Carter’s continuous moving around is heightening everything. It’s making it really hard to relax and go to sleep. Really really hard.

“Carter.”

“Sorry, sir.”

It doesn’t take long before she’s moving again, and as exciting as this is, it’s starting to become uncomfortable. He’s trying very hard not to listen, and tries hard to think about something very boring, like Daniel’s lectures on something old, but then she starts making little humming noises in the back of her throat. Little humming noises that sound very much like satisfaction and enjoyment.

“Carter, would you cut that out!”

She stops again, blissfully still and quiet.

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that these sheets feel great.” 

“I get that,” he says, trying very hard to stay calm. “Really, I do. But you really, _really_ need to lie still and be quiet now.”

“Sorry, sir.”

It takes a long time before the tension abates and he falls asleep; he’s pretty sure Carter’s still wide awake and wired long after he drops off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

 

She wakes up and is blind and deaf and lost.

“Carter!”

A warm, heavy hand on her elbow pulls her back from the brink of panic, and she feels the tightness in her chest start to settle.

“You okay?”

“I just… I think the effect of the device is wearing off,” she pants, pushing her hair out of her eyes and resting her head on her knees for a moment. “I feel… blind and deaf”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, his hand absently gliding across her forearm. “You’re okay.”

Her breath is hitching in her throat, the feel of his hands on her skin is doing strange things to her insides. “Yes, sir,” she says, turning her arm so his fingers brush against hers, and she captures his hand with her own.

When she was drowning in sensation, overwhelmed by noise and smell and light, these fingers were the anchor keeping her grounded. Now, they’re the touch showing her she’s not blind or deaf or alone. She traces the veins and knuckles with her fingers, feeling rough skin and solid bones. Strong hands that have saved her countless times. Hands that have been gentle, loving, and tender. Hands that have killed. 

“Carter?” His voice sounds strange, a calibre she’s never heard on it before. Maybe a little ragged, a little hoarse. 

Aroused. 

She licks her lips, feeling the blood pounding through her at the realisation, revelling in the knowledge that her touch has done this to him. 

He untangles his fingers from hers and pulls away, slowly, and then lays down on his side with his back towards her. “Get some sleep,” he says in that rough, male voice she’s never heard him use before, and suddenly her senses are buzzing again, running rampant. 

Before she can second guess herself, she reaches out and gently, feather light skims her fingertips across the soft skin of his upper arm. She can feel him tense again as his weight shifts on the bed, the definite pause in his breathing pattern. No reprimand is voiced, and she feels braver suddenly, reaching out again and resting her hand on his back between his shoulder blades.

He exhales the trapped breath in a hiss, a hint of a groan underlying it. 

“What are you doing?” 

The heat of his skin beneath the soft cotton of the T shirt is like a furnace against her fingers, and she flexes them before smoothing them out flat again, deliberately, firmly sliding her hand over his scapula and onto his shoulders. 

“I’m touching you,” she whispers into the dark. God, she’s always loved his shoulders. And his arms. The skin is soft, stretched taut over muscles that are bunched with tension. Her fingers journey over his elbow, through the sparse hair on his forearms, resting on his wrist. She feels the pulse thudding beneath her finger tips, hot and strong and regular, and her own pulse answers in return.

“Carter,” he says again, and she slides her fingers over his palm and tangles them with his fingers again. “What is this?” 

“I’m feeling…. feelings,” she throws the echo of his words from a forbidden time at him, and pulls herself closer until the fullness of her breasts, stomach and thighs are pressed against the hard length of his back. 

“God,” the word is dragged out of him, and she knows she’s won. Won what, exactly, she’s not sure, but beneath her fingers the tension is now anticipation. Excitement throbs, an ache low in her belly. His fingers tighten against hers, pulling her hand across his hips and up towards his chest where he pauses again, still hesitant. The hair at the nape of his neck is soft and she breathes in the scent of him, nuzzling, before planting a gentle, open mouthed kiss to the skin below the hairline. There is a hint of salt on his skin, and he tastes the same as he smells, so she kisses again, sucking at the soft skin behind his ear. He groans, pulling her hand up to his mouth where he drags his lips across her knuckles, pressing her fingers against his scratchy cheek.

“Last chance, Carter,” he says, but she doesn’t think he means it. 

She drags her leg across his, the stiff fabric of his BDUs deliciously rough against the skin of her inner thigh, and presses her pelvis against his, hard, leaving no interpretation about what she wants, and when she wants it.

Sam’s not sure if it’s all the effects of the device, but she’s never felt this aroused before, this aware of sensations around her. Between her thighs her arousal is hot and wet and she wonders if he can smell the musky, heady aroma of sex that is permeating the air around them. 

She bites down gently on his ear lobe, and he groans again letting go of her hand and reaching down blindly to grab at the thigh slung over his hips. His fingertips are rough and scrape across her skin, pulling her tighter, closer, and she fists her hand into the T shirt over his chest while she thrusts her hips against him slowly, again and again.

“Carter,” he breathes, and then he’s twisting and rolling beneath her so she’s half straddled across his hips, noses bumping and the stubble of his chin scraping across the sensitive skin of her neck.

She has memories of kissing him, faint recollections from the time she attacked him the locker room, the odd brushing of lips over cheeks during emotional times, but nothing like this. Nothing like the feel of his lips now, smooth and cool sliding against her own, the feel of his teeth nipping at her lip, the taste of him as she opens her mouth and he swallows her sigh of pleasure. He is hot and wet and the taste of him is so much better than she dreamed as he buries his hands in her hair, and his tongue demands entrance to her mouth. 

Sam slides across his body, settling over his hips, groaning as he rolls his pelvis under hers and she feels the hardness pressing up against her heat. She pushes down, grinding against him, and his fingers clench against her scalp, a groan muffled by her lips.

“Carter,” he breathes as they pull apart to catch their breath, temples pressed together and breath mingling damply against their cheeks. 

She wants more; the heat and the ache in her is consuming. Her hands slip under his shirt, the hot skin of his stomach smooth and firm as she pushes and pulls the fabric up, grazing her fingernails against his nipples. His hips thrust up into hers, and then suddenly the world is spinning and she’s lying on her back, pinned between his legs and the tangled sheets.

He takes a moment to shed the shirt and then leans down to kiss her again, fingers finding her hands and pinning them to the bed on either side of her head. The kiss is languid and slow and thorough; and then he moves down the side of her neck, holding her in place as she twists and flexes against the sensations slamming through her. The scrape of his stubble against the tender skin of her neck, the ache of his teeth against her nipples, the whisper of his breath as his mouth grazes past her belly button, the way the bottom falls out of her world when he rubs his fingers against her, in her, flicking and teasing. 

“Not too much?” he whispers against the crease of her thigh, tracing a path to her knee. 

“Never.” 

Maybe the effects of the device haven’t worn off yet, because he’s all over her, around her, and she’s struggling to discern the individual sensations again. She’s not sure how or when, but she’s naked beneath him, his weight pressing down on her, and his lips once again on hers while his thigh pushes insistently between her legs. 

A thrust, and she groans into him, shifting her legs and letting him settle more deeply into the cradle of her hips, the stiff fabric of BDUs scratching and pressing in all the right places.

“Take them off,” she orders, fingers pushing at the waist band.

“You’re sure?” he asks as though it’s not too late. 

She pops the button in reply, pushing frantically, the air suddenly cold around her as he pulls away to strip off the last of the barriers between them. Then his weight is back on her, warm and solid. She lets him settle between her legs again, savouring the feel of his naked skin against hers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close. His arms are around her too, and for a minute they lie still and quiet. The ache is building though, and she can’t wait, so she presses against him, grinding against his hardness, spurring him on. 

He thrusts back, his length slipping between her folds, so she thrusts again and again, eyes slipping shut in pleasure as the sensations explode through her and the tension coils in her belly. 

“There’s no rush,” he murmurs in her ear, and Sam wishes there was more light so she could see his eyes. Instead, he sucks on her earlobe and gently closes his teeth over the sensitive skin, suckling, as her hips push needily against his. 

“Not from where I’m lying,” she pants at him, reaching for him between their bodies. 

He catches her hand and pulls it away, and she can feel the smile against her neck before he laves the skin over her pulse. “How often,” he murmurs, kissing his way to her collar bone, “are you going to be so wired up on touch?” 

Another thrust from his hips and she’s struggling to form coherent thought. Little flashes of light are threatening beneath her eyelids, and she can feel the tension coil tighter. 

“Or,” he kisses the swell of a breast, walking his fingers in a casual trail around the areola before gently rubbing his fingers over her nipple in tight, barely there little circles, “is this how you always are?” 

She grunts, her heart pounding erratically under the breast he’s now got in his mouth. She wouldn’t have pegged him as a talker, and right now she’s more interested in actions rather than conversations.

“Please,” she hisses, bucking against him. “Please.”

He bites on her nipple, and the sting is like lightning to her belly button. His fingers slip down, over her belly and slide against her wetness, the pressure against the folds almost unbearable as he avoids the one place she wants him to touch most.

“Come for me, Carter,” he whispers in her ear. “Let me see you come for me.”

His fingers dip into her, sliding and slipping over soft, swollen flesh. His thumb catches her clitoris, flicking it once, twice, and she is splintering into a million pieces, clenching around him, thrusting, searching for what he hasn’t yet given her. 

He eases her back down with gentle kisses and long, generous strokes of his fingers, pulling his hand away after one last, playful flick which has her hips jolting against his, his erection hard against the softness of her belly.

“Oh,” she says, trying to find her centre again. “Oh.” 

He kisses her again, and she’s too boneless to even touch him now, still swimming in a sea of sensation, but he’s moving, settling himself between her hips while his tongue teases hers. And then she feels him between her legs again, all hard and male and brushing against the damp flesh slowly, back and forth until the familiar ache begins to build and she drags her eyes open. His forehead is resting on hers now, and she can see that his eyes are open, staring at her, but it’s too dark to see what he’s thinking. Instead she can feel his breath on her cheek, hot and damp against her ear. She angles her hips against his thrusts, adding to the friction. 

She raises her legs around his hips, deepening the angle, driving him forwards, pushing against him and breathing him in deep.

“Slow down,” he whispers, finding her hands with his and once again bracketing them loosely on either side of her head. He teases, sliding slowly and deeply against her, and she aches with the emptiness.

Impatient, senses screaming, she captures his lips with her own, and after duelling with his tongue trying to wrest back control, she bites down on his lip, pulling gently. He grunts, his thrusts bucking slightly as his controls slips and slides, and she holds him against her with her thighs, shamelessly begging with her hips. 

And then the angle changes again, and suddenly he’s _right there_ , nudging, seeking, and with a groan that’s torn from her soul she feels him slide home; deep, stretching. She clenches around him, straining, and he grunts deeply against her, his hips jerking before he finds his control and slowly, slowly draws back out. The second time he pushes in and pauses she groans again, trying desperately to draw him in as deeply as she can. The stretching is hot and aching and so, so close to what she wants. His breath is ragged in her ear now, all pretence at finesse lost as he struggles to hold onto his control and prolong it for them. 

Deliberately, desperately, she clenches around him, hard, and jerks her hips.

“Fuck.” The expletive is torn from his lips; she’s rarely heard him swear, and the muscles of his shoulders bunch before he changes his angle again and pulls out, slamming back in quickly and deeply. Her nerves are singing now, the friction sliding in just the right place, and he keeps thrusting, slamming against her with long, determined strokes. His restraint is slipping, and she has a fleeting moment of envy that while she’s falling apart around him, he still manages to hold onto some semblance of control, but the thrusting is more primal and less orchestrated until he buries his head against her shoulder and bites on her neck. The smell and taste and feel of him is surrounding her, she feels like she’s drowning and flying all at once while she’s breaking apart. He grunts and stiffens as she comes, two ragged thrusts as she clenches around him, and then collapses on her, sweaty and spent wonderfully solid against her, holding her weightless body down before it floats away off the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, I certainly can’t find any abnormalities,” Janet concludes as she steps away from Sam. “Just those rash marks over your abdomen and neck. And that bruise,” she adds, touching the small mark at the base of Sam’s neck.

“Maybe my skin was sensitised in more ways than just sensory?” Sam suggests, hoping the blush creeping up her neck doesn’t give her away. She knows exactly what that ‘rash’ and the bruise is from.

“Possibly,” Janet says thoughtfully, as though she knows there’s something Sam isn’t telling her.

“It’s funny, I know you’ve checked me and everything is responding normally, but I swear it feels as though everything around me is on mute, or dull, compared to how it should be.”

“Well, you spent a reasonable amount of time with a heightened sensory system. It’s a bit like coming into the dark from the bright light outside - takes your eyes a while to adjust, and even though you feel blind, eventually you realise you can see just fine.”

“So do you think I’m okay to go home now?”

“Looks like it,” Janet agrees. “I don’t think you’re in any danger of being overwhelmed by gate travel now.”

Sam watches as Janet opens the door to the small room, allowing the male members of SG-1 to enter the room. 

She refuses to make eye contact with the Colonel; she’s not sure she could look at him without dying of shame and simultaneously getting aroused again. She’s certain that despite Janet’s testing, her sense of touch and smell are still ridiculously heightened, and she swears she can still smell him on her skin. She was terrified that Janet would pick up on the smell of sex left in the air when they entered the room earlier.

“We good to go?” the Colonel asks, hands on his P-90 and cap firmly on his head.

“Sure are,” Janet says. “It sounds like the effects wore off overnight.”

“Let’s move out then.”

Sam stands and gathers her pack from the floor next to the chair, slinging it over her shoulder. She’s not surprised to feel his fingers brushing over hers as he helps her clip it into place, but she is surprised when those fingers grasp her arm and hold her back as the rest of the team files out of the room.

“Are we okay, Carter?”

She blushes, staring down at his chest rather than his face.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers, biting on her lip.

His fingers brush under her chin and he tilts her face up to look at him. “Are you sure?”

She nods silently, her gaze riveted on his. Last night, wrapped in the semi-anonymity of the dark, surrounded by his arms and scent and feel, this was what was missing. The intimacy of his gaze, and the way that when he really  _ looks _ at her, it’s as though he only sees her. 

“Do you want to leave this in the room?” he asks softly, and then looks around. “It looks pretty secure.”

She desperately doesn’t want to leave it in the room, but she’s desperately terrified of the question he hasn’t asked -  _ do you want to take this  _ out  _ of the room. _

“We’re starting to collect a few rooms, sir,” she says instead.

His lips twitch in a half smile, but his eyes are sad and understanding. “Soon we might have enough for a house.”

“I’d like that,” she says softly.

He’s so much smarter and more astute than he makes out to be, and Sam knows without a hint of a doubt that he understands exactly what she’s saying.

“So we’re christening them all before we build?” 

She can’t help the snort of laughter. “Going to be tough going back to christen the observation room, sir.

“True,” he says thoughtfully, “maybe there are some rooms we can save for later. We could always experiment in the lab to see if the effects of this device really have worn off.”

She nudges his arm with her shoulder, and they walk out of the room together, joining the rest of the team as they head back toward the gate.


End file.
